


Your Perfection

by skyline



Category: Big Time Rush
Genre: Cameras, M/M, shrines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2011-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-07 14:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline/pseuds/skyline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is there a reason you enjoy taking pictures of me so much?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Perfection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaded_jane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaded_jane/gifts).



> Prompt fill for veryjaneeyre over on ffn. The actual prompt was, "James decides he wants to be on the other side of a camera for a change (taking pictures as opposed to modeling for them) and discovers Logan makes the perfect subject, even when he's trying to duck the camera."

“I swear to god, if you do not get that camera out of my face, I will use it to smash your teeth in.”  
  
Click.  
  
“James.”  
  
Click.  
  
“That is _it_!”  
  
Kendall lunges for James, but he backs up into his room and slams the door.  
  
“I’m going to destroy that thing,” Kendall yells.  
  
“You’ll thank me later,” James calls back through the door. “Dimples like those should be immortalized forever.”  
  
Kendall screams something unintelligible, and James laughs. He turns the camera on himself, snapping a picture. He’s prettier than Kendall anyway. He keeps up the photo shoot, blinding bright flash and all as he backs into his room. He’s doing a good job of walking without using his eyes until he bumps into his dresser. O _w_. James swears, turning, only to find Logan.  
  
On his bed.  
  
“Dude,” James says, confused. “Hi?”  
  
“Hi,” Logan replies, barely bothering to look up. Which is kind of rude, considering he’s crushing all of James’s pillows with his butt.  
  
“Hey, _buddy_. Whatcha you doing?” James grits out, eyeing a pillow. He’d kind of been thinking about taking a nap.  
  
“Studying.”  
  
“Studying?” James hums, like this is some kind of revelation. It’s not. Studying is Logan’s go-to activity. He says it’s- James has to swallow down bile even thinking it- _fun_. “Don’t you have your own bed to study on? In a room that is not here?”  
  
Logan makes this noncommittal noise. James frowns at him.  
  
And then he takes a picture, because ever since his mom sent him this Nikon to memorialize his time in California, James has been _memorializing_ like some kind of fiend. He’s used to being a huge camera whore, but he actually likes the feeling of being the one behind the lens. There’s power in choosing the light and the angle and the flow of a picture; in being able to capture people at their best or at their worst, all with a flick of the wrist and a tiny push of a button. At the very least, James figures it will make him a better model. After all, photographers always seem to be the ones who know which poses look best.  
  
“Was that Kendall outside?” Logan asks, tone neutral.  
  
“Mm? Yeah. He’s camera-shy.” James settles down on the bed beside Logan, Nikon in hand. Since Logan seems to be making zero effort to move his ass, James lazily takes a few pictures while Logan’s face is buried in his text book, not even bothering to look through the lens.  
  
But then he starts taking serious snapshots. Because-  
  
Logan’s got this thing that he does while he’s reading. He smiles or he laughs or he makes a face, like he’s in the midst of a conversation that no one else can hear. James likes to watch it, because it makes Logan look a little bit ridiculous, but watching through the lens of his Nikon makes it even better. He gets all these tiny still frames of Logan, frozen mid-movement; eyes scanning, lips moving, delight blossoming over his face. And he’s not even a little bit shy. He doesn’t appear to notice that James is all up in his face, taking inventory of his pearly white smile and his cheekbones. James grins to himself when Logan doesn’t even flinch as the flash goes off, making spots swim in front of his eyes. He checks how the shot has turned out and browses through his camera’s digital memory, a bit fascinated by the way Logan has all these emotions that flicker by so quickly it takes the Nikon’s fast shutter speed to catch them.  
  
Abruptly, James realizes he’s never seen half of the faces that Logan makes at his books; not directed towards him. It bothers James. Weirdly, he has this urge to know every nuance of Logan’s face, of his expressions. He wants to _know_ Logan, and it’s a ridiculous notion because he already knows who his friend is.  
  
“You really like that camera,” Logan announces.  
  
“I do,” James agrees, toying with the casing.  
  
Logan starts talking about composition and negative space and James has fuck all idea what he’s on about, but he likes the way Logan’s smile quirks when he goes all smart and shit. So he takes a picture.  
  
And then another.  
  
And another.  
  
“James, my face is not that interesting.”  
  
“Yes it is,” James says, before he can think about it.  
  
He’s never been very good at thinking anyway.  
  
Logan is giving him a weird look.  
  
“I like your face,” James tries. That doesn’t actually make what he said clearer. Or less gay.  
  
“If you say so.” Logan shrugs and launches into a discourse about ambient light.  
  
“This is super interesting,” James drawls in a voice that makes it clear that he really doesn’t care. He regrets his sarcasm seconds later, when Logan’s mouth snaps shut. The silence rushes to fill James’s ears, and he has the unsettling thought that he didn’t actually want Logan to stop talking. But James, Carlos, and Kendall have been giving Logan shit about being a boy-genius since forever ago. His reaction was _instinctive_.  
  
James doesn’t know how to apologize for seventeen years’ worth of relentless mocking, so he curls up on the bed, snuggling into Logan’s side, cuddling up around him like a real dog.  
  
“What are you doing?” Logan asks.  
  
“You’re sitting on my pillows,” James explains, even though it would be easy to grab them out from under Logan’s scrawny ass.  
  
Logan accepts the explanation like it actually makes sense, and he lets James keep his head pressed in close to his thigh while Logan returns to his text; fingers tracing line after line of scientific theory. He’s still mouthing the occasional word, smiling to himself or even mumbling his own opinion to the book, like it’s an old friend. He is a steady, quiet presence in James’s room, and without meaning to, James drifts off to sleep.  
  
When James wakes up, night’s crept onto the horizon. He is lying sprawled on the bed, head resting against the soft rise and fall of Logan’s chest. He cranes his head to peer upwards, and all he can see is the indent of a dimple and a soft fan of eyelashes. The text book’s been sloppily discarded to one side. Logan is fast asleep, one arm around James’s shoulders.  
  
James thinks about waking him, because geez, this is _his_ bed. No one in 2J has any respect for personal property or boundaries or privacy. But it doesn’t seem to matter so much, because Logan’s arm is a comforting weight along his back, and Logan’s heartbeat is a steady, sweet rhythm and James really thinks that it would take too much effort to move.  
  
He does wish he could reach his camera though. Like this, Logan is really kind of- beautiful.

  


\---

  
It gets weird, after that night.  
  
Well, actually, it gets weird after James develops the pictures from that night. Because he figures out that Logan? Is shockingly photogenic. Possibly even more so than James himself, although James will never admit it in public. Not even under threat of waterboarding. But yeah, Logan takes a good picture. And James? He really likes photographing Logan. Really, _really_.  
  
There’s a possibility he likes doing it to the point of obsession, but James downright refuses to acknowledge _that_ out loud.  
  
Carlos has no such compulsions, however, and he loudly and joyously declares James a creeptastic stalker. James ignores him, of course. He knows that it would be even worse if Carlos ever found the picture of Logan’s face taped on the side of his dresser, away from prying eyes. It’s one of James’s best shots, all soft and hazy and sweet. The light hitting Logan’s face is beautiful.  
  
Seriously, it’s a fantastic shot. That’s the only reason James put it there.  
  
No, really. It’s amazing.  
  
Okay. James knows it’s a little freaky.  
  
Especially when he adds a couple more fantastic shots to the dresser. It almost looks like a collage, now. Not the point. James will concede that yeah, it’s freaky. Logan’s a popstar, but James is not a prepubescent girl. He’s perfectly aware that it isn’t natural to have a giant blown up picture of his best friend watching him sleep. But-  
  
See, James has always had an appreciation for how attractive his friends are. He’d be crazy not to have noticed. Only, this is different. Since that night? James has noticed that Logan is no longer the little boy he used to share bathtubs with. He’s not the kid who tried to teach James his multiplication tables when all James wanted to do was bounce on his trampoline, or the red-cheeked twelve year old boy that James used to shovel driveways with for petty cash. He’s not even the fourteen year old who used to cry when James tried to practice body checks on him. Right before James’s eyes, it’s like he’s transforming into a man; someone kind and gorgeous and surprisingly strong. James doesn’t know how to handle it.  
  
He’s not even sure he would have noticed if it hadn’t been laid bare for him right on his laptop; pixilated and pretty in slideshow form.  
  
It is a little awkward when Mrs. Knight approaches him and asks, “James. Do we need to have a talk?”  
  
“A- talk?”  
  
“I found your, um. Pictures,” she says reluctantly.  
  
At first James thinks she’s talking about the porn stash he’s got hidden away, but that can’t be it. Mrs. Knight isn’t much for, um, work, and she’d probably have to fumigate to get to the pile of magazines and videos the guys have accumulated. They chose the hidey-hole with great foresight and care.  
  
It’s in Carlos’s closet, where few men dare to tread.  
  
“Of Logan?” She prompts. James reddens. It’s not like he made a huge effort to conceal it, but maybe he could have added a picture of Carlos or Kendall into the collage. He hadn’t thought of it before because he sees their faces all the time. Why would he want to look at them right before he goes to sleep?  
  
Something about that logic is probably off.  
  
James stutters out a no, _mortified_ , and Mrs. Knight appears happy to have averted another crisis without lifting a finger. He thinks, maybe, he should stop taking pictures of Logan.  
  
He doesn’t.  
  
Behind the camera, James is welcome to stare as long as he wants. He can pretend to be calculating what mixture of angles and light will make the best shot while openly gaping at every subtle nuances of Logan’s expression. He can admire his friend without anyone even knowing.  
  
Which is pivotal. James has a reputation to protect, here.  
  
But he does a lot of admiring. He likes the way Logan looks in the watery sunlight that seeps through the canvas of the poolside cabanas. He likes how Logan looks like a shimmery blur beneath the surface of the pool. He likes the way Logan looks with flour on his cheek, fresh from making pancakes.  
  
It would take too long to list all the things James likes, actually: Logan with the sunshine in his hair and his dimpled smile. Logan’s intelligent eyes dancing.  
  
For days afterwards, James doesn’t know what to do with himself. He stares at his reflection in the mirror and for the first time, his own face isn’t the one he wants to see. He presses his fingertips to the side of his mouth, wishing for dimples and maple syrup eyes; wishing for a shy, sweet smile that makes his heart thud harder in his chest.  
  
He ends up making a phone call.  
  
“Mom, what the hell is wrong with this camera?”  
  
His mom’s voice over the phone is brisk and to the point, much like the woman herself. “Language. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Did you break it, already?”  
  
“No. But it’s- you did something to it,” James insists, thinking that his mom has once again used her freaky witch voodoo powers somehow. She has those. James has never been able to prove it, but she totally does. There’s no other way to explain how she’s so damn persuasive all the time.  
  
Oops, language.  
  
“Sweetie, I think you’re getting too much sun,” his mom tells him. And then she hangs up.  
  
“Gee, thanks mom,” James tells his phone. “Pleasure talking to you.”  
  
He walks into the kitchen, phone in one hand, camera in the other. Logan’s on the couch, reading a book, because reading is also something Logan does for fun. Logan has a skewed perception of pleasure. Carlos, though, he’s sitting next to Logan trying to kill something large and vicious and almost three dimensional on the TV. He keeps jabbing his fingers into the controller like it will make something happen. When he sees James, he perks up.  
  
“Do you want me to model for you next?” Carlos poses. James considers.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Aw, come on. I’m way better looking than Logan.”  
  
“That is a vicious lie,” Logan says, barely glancing up from his novel. Which looks like it’s at least five hundred pages. That’s just sick. “Which of us is able to land a girlfriend? The answer is _not you_.”  
  
James cocks his head in agreement.  
  
“Seriously? Fine.” Carlos pouts. “If you like Logan so much, you should just kiss him.”  
  
Then, in a very mature manner, he begins to sing, “Logan and James sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” until James deigns to throw an Xbox controller. At his head. Unfortunately, his aim sucks. He is obviously out of practice.  
  
Logan manages to lift his head long enough to peek at the damage that James has just caused to one of Mrs. Knight’s vases. “Ignore him.”  
  
“I am,” James says.  
  
Except, the thing is, Carlos may have a point.  
  
Before the Nikon, James thought of Logan as his smart, cool friend with Bambi eyes and a shy smile. Now, his thoughts have gone all crooked. When he watches Logan, he sees intelligence and laughter dancing in those doe eyes, and it does things to James’s jeans, already too tight. And that smile, god, that smile. How has he never noticed how cute it is? The way it spreads slow as sunset over Logan’s face, melting all of James’s insides?  
  
He has seventeen years worth of memories to reexamine.

  


\---

  
James has fallen in love before. At least, he’s always thought he had. Now he isn’t so sure. Everything he’s feeling about Logan is tentative and new; emotions his body doesn’t know how to control or hold back. James wonders if the camera’s changing him.  
  
It’s just- things look different now. He keeps capturing things he doesn’t expect.  
  
Logan asks him about it, once. They’re messing around by the pool, laying in the sunlight and drinking smoothies. It’s the most relaxed day James has had in a long time. They tell stories and Logan laughs at his jokes, and James is pretty much basking in the warmth of it all. He isn’t the smartest guy around, but Logan’s never once judged him for it. Even though Logan knows pretty much everything there is to know in the entire world, he still finds James interesting. Which- it’s rare that people like James for more than his face and his easy, shallow charm.  
  
Most people, outside of a select few, don’t even try. Logan is by far the smartest of them.  
  
Privately, James thinks that having someone who knows the name of every star in the sky channel all that focus in his direction? It’s pretty fucking awesome. Right up until Logan asks, “Is there a reason you enjoy taking pictures of me so much?”  
  
“You’re nice to look at,” James explains simply. He doesn’t see any reason to lie. It’s not like he hasn’t already told Logan that he likes his _interesting face_. Why not add nice to the list?  
  
Logan’s cheeks redden and James thinks that he’s _really_ nice to look at when he’s all flushed like that. Except, maybe he didn’t say the right thing. Logan is all flustered and stuttering, and he isn’t laughing at any of James’s jokes anymore. The silence between them gets so awkward that James ends up reluctantly suggesting that they return to 2J. Carlos and Kendall are, at the very least, good for lightening a mood.  
  
James is usually good at lightening moods too. He’s not sure what he’s done wrong.  
  
As they walk up the stairs, James lets himself appreciate the tiny dip in Logan’s spine and the place where his back dimples. He thinks about pressing his mouth against Logan’s skin, about tasting it sun-hot and soft against his tongue.  
  
He doesn’t do any of that. James has been back in 2J for all of two minutes, glaring at the room where Logan has disappeared into, when there’s a knock in the door. And the owner of that knock is-  
  
“Camille! Hi. What are you doing here?”  
  
Startled, she blinks at James. “I wanted to talk to Logan.”  
  
“Logan? He’s not here.”  
  
Camille looks really pretty in her sundress, and normally, James would think of sliding his hands down her hips and drawing her in for a kiss. He’s always liked Camille, way more than he should. But for the first time, James wishes her as far away as humanly possible.  
  
“James, I just saw him walk into the apartment with you.”  
  
“Okay. He is here. But he’s busy.”  
  
“Doing what?”  
  
“Studying.”  
  
Camille makes a dismissive noise, “He’s always studying. I’ll just-“  
  
“Wait!”  
  
Her eyebrows arch up into her hairline, practically. “Yeah?”  
  
James tries to think of a really good reason for Camille not to go to Logan’s room. “He has leprosy.”  
  
Camille laughs in his face. “What? James, are you feeling okay?”  
  
Well, that didn’t work the way he’d intended. Which, whatever, James is not the brains of this operation for a reason.  
  
“I’m good. Um- never mind. Go on,” James waves Camille down the hall, trying to look completely unbothered. Then he perches behind entryway to Logan’s room, because it doesn’t take brains to eavesdrop. He’s pretty proud of his plan, actually. He can even see in on Logan’s side of the conversation, from the tiny crack where Camille didn’t shut the door completely.  
  
James isn’t sure if it’s a good thing. The look on his friend’s face while he and Camille talk isn’t one James has documented. Logan’s eyes have gone all soft, mouth pressed together like he’s holding himself back a little bit, and James can’t tell what he’s holding himself back from. His fingers twitch, and he wants to run to his room and grab his camera. Instead, he holds up his fingers like a lens frame, feeling more than a little like a creeper.  
  
In the box of his indexes and thumbs, Logan is stock still, almost like he’s posing; enchanted by everything that Camille is. If James had his camera, he thinks that he would click the button and walk away. Instead he stands there, glaring through the crack in the door. He’s got something caught in his throat, but it certainly isn’t love.  
  
James is shocked out of his reverie by a familiar voice.  
  
“Are you trying to get a picture of Logan naked?”  
  
“What? No,” James squeaks, glancing quickly towards the couple to see if they’ve heard Kendall. They seem pretty absorbed in their conversation. “Why would you say that?”  
  
“Because you’ve kind of been paparazzi stalking him this week.”  
  
“You jealous? I told you you’d want your dimples immortalized.” James pretends he’s going to sprint off to retrieve his camera.  
  
“Don’t even think about it,” Kendall replies dryly. “What are we doing?”  
  
James considers. “We’re ninjas.”  
  
Kendall glances down at his fluorescent green swimming trunks, expression doubtful. “I don’t feel like a ninja. Hey, why are we spying on Logan?”  
  
“We’re not- spying. Dude, we’re ninja-ing.”  
  
“That’s not a verb.”  
  
Like James cares.  
  
“If I wanted to talk to Logan, I’d be in there,” James gestured to the room.  
  
“Right. Instead you’re playing ninja paparazzi. James. I think it’s time you gave me the camera. It’s messing with your brain.”  
  
“What? No. It’s mine.”  
  
“We had this discussion about the spraytan, James. Once you start acting obsessive, your toys get taken away, remember?”  
  
“Kendall.” James is so very glad that the Nikon is tucked in his super secret hidey-hole in his room with a couple of Playboy’s back issues. Kendall will never find it.  
  
Which doesn’t mean he isn’t going to go look.  
  
“Kendall, where are you going? Kendall, no!” James shouts as Kendall stalks down the hall towards the room that James shares with Carlos.  
  
The problem with shouting is that it tends to give away a person’s strategic eavesdropping position.  
  
“James?” Camille is now standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. Logan is right behind her. He looks- James doesn’t know what to call the expression. He’s been running into that problem a lot, lately. Which- who even gave Logan permission to become a mystery? “Was that Kendall I heard? Where’d he slink off to?”  
  
“He’s having a manly fit in, um, in my room.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Temper tantrum,” James lies through his teeth. “His trunks fell down at the pool again.”  
  
He figures Kendall could use a healthy dose of humiliation.  
  
Camille murmurs something about checking to see if the Jennifers have caught Kendall’s ass on camera. James doesn’t stick around to process it. Instead he says, “I gotta- go, join him. Um.”  
  
He dashes down the hallway, intent on saving his Nikon.     
  
Right before he ducks into his room, though, he could swear that Logan is still standing there, staring after him.   


  
\---

  
Kendall doesn’t find James’s camera. What he does find is James’s super secret shrine to Logan. It’s pretty humiliating. Even more so than when Mrs. Knight tried to give him motherly advice. After half an hour of hysterical laughter, James has to physically kick Kendall out of his room. He ends up with a couple of bruises to show for it.  
  
Once Kendall’s gone, James digs the Nikon out from where he’s stowed it beneath Carlos’s bed, avoiding toxic smelling socks and what may well be a petrified corndog. It’s pretty much the perfect hiding spot. It’s even scarier than Carlos’s closet, meaning no one else ever dares to look under there. Not even Carlos.  
  
James turns the black casing over and over in his hands, wondering if cameras are like, magic. Can they make a person feel all fresh and spangled and new? Can they make a person fall in-  
  
There’s a rap on the door that sounds kind of like the chorus of _I Know You Know_. James groans, clambering to his feet with the camera clutched protectively to his chest.  
  
“Kendall, if that’s you, I’m not letting you-“  
  
The door swings back. It’s not Kendall.  
  
“Hi.”  
  
“Logan. Um. Hi.”  
  
“Did you stop Kendall’s meltdown?”  
  
“His what?” James asks, blank as can be.  
  
“I knew you were lying!” Logan crosses his arms. “Is Kendall in here?”  
  
Logan proceeds to start marching around the room, pulling back James’s comforter, throwing open the closet, and even gathering enough courage to peer beneath Carlos’s bed. Where Kendall most certainly is not.  
  
James is a little bit confused.  
  
“Logan, what are you doing?”  
  
“I-“ Logan glares at James. “You- you guys were acting really weird earlier.”  
  
“Kendall was trying to steal my camera.” James clutches it tighter for emphasis, saying _mine_ with all the body language he knows how to use.  
  
“Your _camera_?”  
  
“Yeah, my camera. Why do you sound so surprised?”  
  
James feels like this is an opportune time to take a picture.  
  
“Oh. Oh. That makes sense.”  
  
“What did you think we were doing?”  
  
“Never mind. I’ll just-“ Logan begins to walk out of the room.  
  
Before he can stop himself, James blurts, “Wait. You and Camille- are you, um, getting back together?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“ _Don’t_.” The word is weighty, and it comes out as a growl.  
  
Slowly, Logan turns to face James again. He asks in a strange voice, “What does it matter to you?”  
  
“It just does.” James snaps a picture. The shutter clicks. He moves, prowling around Logan in a circle, trying to find an angle that makes the worry lines on his forehead look smaller.  
  
Click.  
  
Click.  
  
Click.  
  
“James, stop taking pictures and just- why shouldn’t I get back with Camille? You like Camille.”  
  
“I do,” James agrees, although his feelings about Camille at the current moment are less than kind. “But she’s not the girl for you.”  
  
“Because you want her?”  
  
“What? No.” James snaps another picture. Click.  
  
“James, put the camera down.”  
  
James ignores him, kneeling and looking up through the lens at Logan, who looks pissed as hell, and freakishly breathtaking. Click. He says, “I bet there’s someone out there who likes you even better than Camille.”  
  
“Oh yeah? Where do I find this mystery admirer?”  
  
James wants to say _right here_ , but he doesn’t. He has a lot of self-confidence, but not a lot of courage.  
  
“Around.”  
  
He shifts, about to snap another picture, but then Logan shouts.  
  
Like, he actually _yells_.  
  
“James, put down the stupid camera.”  
  
James doesn’t even get a chance to react to Logan’s highly unnecessary abrasiveness. Logan’s already snatching the Nikon out of his hands. Rude, much?  
  
James grabs for it, but Logan dodges back, setting the camera gently on the bed behind him. James’s face feels exposed, like a negative in too-bright light. For the first time he doesn’t want anyone to look at him, much less Logan. He tries to focus on making another play for the camera, but Logan’s got him by the hip, by the wrist, and-  
  
He’s not stronger than James or anything.  
  
James just doesn’t want to pull away.  
  
Logan pushes his face all up in James’s personal space, intrusive and completely not at all like Logan. Or, no, that’s not right.  
  
It _is_ like Logan to boss James around; to tell him when he’s being stupid. At least, it was before they met Kendall and Carlos in first grade. Sometimes James forgets that there were entire years where he had Logan all to himself. Sometimes he forgets that Logan is snowball fights and nights of hot cocoa, snuggled in front of fires. He’s summer days splashing through the lake, the two of them pretending they can rule the world.  
  
He’s the only one who has ever treated James like an equal; not a mentor, not a competitor.  
  
Softer now, Logan says, “Just look at me, okay?”  
  
James does. He looks straight into Logan’s dark eyes and says, “I have been looking at you. All the time. Logan, you’re the only thing I see anymore.”  
  
Maybe James has finally figured out the right thing to say.  
  
Because Logan kisses him.  
  
He is actually a shockingly good kisser, and James can see perfectly while Camille is so infatuated with him. James fists his hands in Logan’s hair, tugging. Logan groans against his mouth, low and throaty. He starts rolling his hips against James, kissing him harder, and damn. James needs to thank his mom for the magic camera.  
  
Mom thoughts? Not sexy. James’s tongue darts into Logan’s mouth, licking all wet and filthy until Logan’s hips are pressing at his, more insistent now. Obligingly, James backs Logan on to the bed. He really thinks it’s going quite well, all friction and dry heat, until he has to break the kiss to get Logan’s stupid sweater vest off. At which point Logan turns his head, but not towards the full length mirror James has set up, where he’d be able to see how hot the two of them look together.  
  
No, Logan has to look towards James’s dresser. He proceeds to mumble in a funny voice, “James.”  
  
James is occupied, thank you, and he’s busy trying to shrug off the vest and simultaneously attempting to suck a mark onto Logan’s surprisingly well toned stomach when the laughter begins, trembling the skin beneath his mouth. Immediately, James stops what he’s doing. He prides himself at being fantastic in all things bedroom-related. Laughter is not a typical response.  
  
He glares up at Logan, trying to figure what’s so funny, and that’s when he sees where Logan’s eyes have landed.  
  
“You really-“ Snort. “-weren’t kidding-“ Chuckle. “-when you said you liked my face.”  
  
James sits up. He is _not_ wasting his smolder on Logan when he’s being mocked.  
  
“Oh come on,” Logan says at James’s expression. He gives James one of those organ melting smiles; the ones than landed James in this position in the first place. “I didn’t mean it like- c’mere.”  
  
James pouts. He doesn’t want to come there. He is wallowing in misery here.  
  
“James,” Logan intones, all bossy and strict sounding. It’s his teacher voice.  
  
It’s pretty fucking hot.  
  
James obeys, sidling close so that he can feel Logan’s breath on his lips.  
  
“I think it’s cute that I’ve got a fan. Are you going to write me letters? Are you going to steal my underwear?”  
  
James figures he can react two ways. He could get all pissy and refuse to put out. Or-  
  
He squeezes Logan’s ass and listens to him squeak. “I was thinking about doing that right now.”  
  
Logan doesn’t get it at first. But when he does, that slow smile blossoms over his face again, simultaneously shy and sexy, sweet and a little wicked. If James had his camera, he would take a picture. But the Nikon’s all the way down at his feet, and he’s got Logan’s face so very close already. Pictures are good, but James figures he’s already got Logan right there, in the flesh.  
  
He doesn’t need a picture to remember this moment.  
  
It’s perfection.


End file.
